Pardon My French
by Tintern Abbey
Summary: [reposted] The only thing worse than cheating on your fiancee is cheating on your fiancee with her part-veela sister-in-law. Harry/Fleur.
1. Part One

_Disclaimer: _Harry Potter _does not belong to me._

_Note: I originally posted this under another account a couple of years ago. I lost interest in the story and knew I would never update, so I deleted it. I recently decided to bring it back so that people could enjoy it again, so here it is. However, I still have no plans to continue this story. I'm simply reposting it and will **not** be updating, so please don't ask me to update._

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**Pardon My French**

Part One

Victoire Weasley's third birthday party was supposed to be a lighthearted, joyous celebration filled with family bonding, relaxation, and obscene amounts of cake consumption. And it was, for Victoire Weasley, at least. For Harry Potter, on the other hand, attending the birthday party of his three-year-old niece was turning into something that belonged on the Most Unpleasant Experiences Scale. If listening to old Mrs. Figg drone on about her cats was a one and encountering Lord Voldemort was a ten, then this party was about a four-and-a-half rapidly approaching five. Emphasis on rapidly.

"Harry, she kissed you on the cheek. She sat so close to you, she might as well have been sitting _on_ you."

"She had too much champagne, Ginny."

"She's sixteen."

"And she's French. She's probably been drinking champagne since she was two."

"No, I mean she's _sixteen_, which is _six_ years younger than you."

Harry was supposed to be eating cake and chuckling over Arthur Weasley's latest antics involving the ever-so-extraordinary "eckeltricity," but instead he stood by the punch table in plain sight of all his in-laws and argued with his fiancee over Gabrielle Delacour. _Teenaged_ Gabrielle Delacour, who Harry found to be more annoying than alluring, though Ginny was convinced otherwise.

"We've only been engaged for a month," Ginny was saying. "I can't believe it's only taken you a month to become the bored future husband with the wandering eye. I've seen the way that baby harlot looks at you every time we have a family get-together, so don't think I've been blind."

Harry had picked the wrong day to leave his invisibility cloak behind. And he called himself an Auror?

"Ginny, I did not encourage Gabrielle. The last thing I want is a headline like 'Boy-Who-Lived Abandons Fiancee For Teen Mistress' all over the _Daily Prophet _tomorrow."

Ginny looked ready to conjure up a glass of punch and splash it all over his face. Perhaps "mistress" was the wrong choice of word. "I'm going to go talk to George and Angelina," she said stiffly, reminding him so much of her brother Percy that he would have laughed under normal circumstances. Instead he felt like drowning himself in the punch bowl.

Ginny stalked across Bill and Fleur's front yard, which had been decorated with two gazebos, one pavilion, and enough streamers to strangle a full-grown giant, and found George so she could distract herself from the unpleasant debacle hanging over Harry's head. Why oh why did he allow himself to sit with Gabrielle, of all people? Ginny hated Gabrielle. She wasn't fond of Fleur either, especially when Fleur was the one who threw this party in the first place, but she _hated_ Gabrielle and called her a worthless little tart, among other names. Like baby harlot and empty-headed trollop.

And now she wouldn't speak to Harry because Gabrielle had been stupid enough to snuggle against his shoulder and kiss him on the cheek. _Three_ times. And Harry, in a fit of idiocy worthy of an Idiot of the Year Award, let her do it within Ginny's line of vision. Mainly because he didn't want to be rude to Gabrielle, but sometimes being polite was not the answer.

It looked like he had bought himself a ticket to Sleeping-on-the-Couch-Ville. Bloody hell.

After tearing his eyes away from the innocent sight of Victoire chasing after an enchanted firework, Harry decided to quit moping outdoors so he could mope indoors instead, where fewer people could see him. Besides, Gabrielle had caught his eye from several feet away, no doubt hoping he would carry her off to an over-sized closet to have a passionate, illegal affair with her underaged self. Why couldn't she be like normal sixteen-year-old girls and chase after single wizards her own age?

Harry entered the house hoping to find some of Bill's strongest firewhisky, but instead found Fleur sitting alone in the living room with a glass of wine. "Er, I didn't mean to both—"

"No, no, have a seat," Fleur said airily, gesturing at an empty chair with her wineglass. After living in England for several years, she had lost most of her accent, though it made reappearances whenever she was stressed or angry. "It is too hot to stand out there all day, don't you think?"

Harry may have gotten used to Fleur's overall _veela-ness_ over the last few years, but he still couldn't deny her anything and took the offered seat.

"Have some wine," Fleur insisted.

"Er—"

Too late. With a dainty flick of her wand, Fleur summoned an extra wineglass and filled it to the brim for Harry. Harry murmured his thanks and sipped at the wine, which turned out to be a nice substitute for the firewhisky he had been seeking. As he and Fleur drank and made small talk about Victoire, who had inherited Fleur's silvery hair and slim figure, Harry was hit with an idea that might solve all of his current Ginny problems. Emphasis on might.

"...we have not decided if she will go to Hogwarts or Beauxbatons, but of course we do not have to worry about that for another—"

"Fleur?" Harry interrupted. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, Harry," said Fleur, giving him an indulgent smile.

"Well, it's about Gabrielle. I don't really know how to say this, and I'm not sure if you've noticed it, but your sister's crush on me is becoming, well, less than appropriate. And it's starting to really upset Ginny, who won't even talk to me after..."

Harry trailed off, realizing that Fleur's eyes had become bright and glossy while he was talking. Oh Merlin, was she _crying_? If he had known she was so sensitive about Gabrielle, he would have never opened his big, stupid mouth.

"Of course," Fleur said shakily. "At anyone else's party, the guests would have all been happy, but at _my_ party it makes perfect sense for somebody to get upset. After all, I am silly and French and can do nothing right. What do _I_ know?" She refilled her wineglass, drank down half of it, and refilled it again.

Harry felt like he was missing something. "Um, Fleur? Are you all right?"

"Bill's darling _maman_ does not think I am all right. I invite her to ze party to be polite and she cannot be 'appy with anything." As Fleur became more upset, her accent crept into her speech and she continued to refill her wineglass. "And Bill does not defend me because she is his _muzzer _and of course she is _always_ right and I cannot stand either of zem right now. 'Aven't I been a part of zis family for more than five years now? 'Aven't I?"

"Yes," Harry said uncomfortably, wondering if he should just get up and let Fleur cry privately.

"Oh, but 'Arry, why are you not drinking? I do not like to drink alone." She promptly refilled his wineglass and Harry had no choice but to drink from it, which seemed to pacify Fleur somewhat.

They were both rather tipsy by the time Fleur had dried her eyes and she blinked at Harry from her sofa, looking like a much less predatory, much more tolerable version of Gabrielle. In fact, she looked terribly appealing as she sat on the sofa with glassy eyes, the stem of her empty wineglass clutched between her fingers.

"Do you remember when we first met, and I called you a little boy?" she asked, perfectly calm now that she had finished her outburst.

"Yeah," said Harry. "I remember how it got on my nerves."

"You are not a little boy at all anymore."

"Thank you?"

"Come and sit by me," said Fleur, patting the empty spot on her sofa. "I feel like you are my only friend right now. These Weasleys will be the death of us both, won't they?"

Harry agreed and sat next to her on the sofa, not caring if their legs happened to touch. He doubted that Ginny would go looking for him in her current state of annoyance, and what was the harm in spending time with the party's hostess? If Harry was going to be part of Ginny's family, then he might as well start bonding with _all_ of the in-laws, which included Fleur.

"Harry," said Fleur, looking into his face. "Your eyes are very green."

"That's what everyone tells me," said Harry.

"They are _very_ green."

Harry couldn't help but notice that _her_ eyes were very blue, and that suddenly they were closer and closer until he couldn't see them at all, because he was too busy kissing her in a wine-induced haze.

If he had been thinking clearly, he would have realized that they were at a party, which meant there were people everywhere, which meant that somebody could walk in and see them, which meant that Ginny could find out and hex them both into oblivion, but how could he worry about getting hexed when he was _already_ in oblivion? Fleur, unsurprisingly enough, was an excellent kisser and seemed to have no problem turning their slightly drunk lip collision into full-out snogging, like they were a couple of deprived teenagers. Harry could have sworn Fleur broke one of the wineglasses when she leaned back against the sofa cushions so he could straddle her properly, but what did some broken glass matter?

Only Merlin knew how long they spent in that position, but after a while Harry came to his senses (either that or he ran out of air) and realized what exactly he was doing.

He was on Bill and Fleur's living room sofa, straddling Fleur and kissing her like she was a full-course dinner and he was a starving man. If Ginny happened to walk in and discover him, she probably wouldn't bother with a hex or a curse. She would conjure up a giant axe and hurl it at his head, then proceed to dismember all of his body parts and bury them in the yard right next to Victoire's birthday pavilion. Then she would magically brand the word "HARLOT" upon Fleur's forehead and Fleur would have to live with it for the rest of her life, enduring her badge of shame while all of wizarding society shunned her.

Wait, wasn't there some Muggle novel about something like that?

He pulled his lips away from Fleur's, realized his glasses were askew, and hurriedly fixed them so he could see properly. "Um," he said, feeling clever and articulate.

"Oh," said Fleur.

He crawled off of her and nearly sprawled onto the floor in the process, because he felt hopelessly awkward and was still quite tipsy. If he thought that letting Gabrielle kiss him on the cheek was bad, then he was obviously a very poor judge of what constituted bad behavior and needed to redefine his moral code, because he had rapidly crossed over from _mildly inappropriate_ into the realm of _horrible and depraved._

On the bright side, at least this was better than having a tawdry affair with a schoolgirl.

"I don't know what came over me," said Fleur, straightening her clothes and putting her hair in order.

Harry cast a nervous glance around the room, but was soon relieved to find that nobody had entered the house. "We'll just forget this happened. Blame it on the wine and forget that it happened."

"Yes, that is a wonderful idea."

"So I'll just... go back outside now and have a piece of cake. I heard that it's delicious."

Fleur nodded her head. "It_ is_ delicious, no matter what Bill's _maman_ says."

"Excellent." Harry made no effort to get off the sofa.

"Yes."

"Anyway..."

And then somehow, because the fates were obviously against him, Harry ended up kissing Fleur on the sofa for another three minutes. And what enjoyable minutes they were. Thoroughly hating himself for enjoying it so much, Harry managed to pull away from Fleur and made up some excuse about needing to use the toilet, hoping that whatever magnetic force kept pulling them together would go away and leave him alone already.

He stumbled his way to the bathroom and sat on the toilet seat for a good five minutes, contemplating his life and his highly debauched moral state. He was The-Boy-Who-Lived, defeater of Lord Voldemort and savior of the entire wizarding world. He wasn't supposed to go around snogging other people's wives at a toddler's birthday party, or anywhere at all for that matter.

And _good Godric_, he cheated on Ginny. After listening to her make false accusations about wandering eyes, he went ahead and did the exact thing she accused him of.

He was the worst boyfriend ever. He and Ginny had been engaged for a month and he couldn't keep his hands off another woman, who happened to be his fiancee's sister-in-law, which meant that she was _Harry's_ future sister-in-law as well. Cheating on his fiancee was bad enough, but cheating on his fiancee with her part-veela sister-in-law was ten times worse, and on top of that Fleur was three years older than Harry, which he had completely forgotten about while his lips were busy being unfaithful.

He supposed he did have a habit of liking older girls. Cho Chang had been a year older than him, after all, and Fleur was only two years older than Cho, so it wasn't that bad. And besides, he was twenty-two years old now. Age would have mattered a whole lot more if he was still a teenager, but that sort of thing didn't matter anymore once he hit twenty-two.

No, the one thing that _did_ matter was that he and Fleur were both in a relationship. With other people.

As Harry sat on the highly polished toilet seat and wondered what would happen if he and Fleur ever encountered each other again, he knew that he was in trouble. He was in more trouble than the time he cost Gryffindor a hundred and fifty house points in his first year. He was in more trouble than the time the Goblet of Fire spat his name out in front of the whole school, but of course that only made him think of Fleur and the time they first met.

Harry Potter was in big, big trouble.

_Knock knock._

"Is anyone in there?"

_Holy hippogriffs with a bloody hell on top._ Why in the name of Merlin's pointy hat did _Bill bloody Weasley_, of all people, have to knock on the bathroom door?

"Er, yes," said Harry, hoping that his voice sounded perfectly normal instead of guilty in a just-snogged-your-wife kind of way.

"That you, Harry?"

"...Yes?"

"Ginny's wondering where you are. Should I tell her you're in here?"

And allow her to conjure up an axe so she could mutilate him into a thousand pieces? Go right ahead. "Um, sure. I'm almost out."

Harry took a deep breath, then flushed the toilet and washed his hands just in case anyone else was wondering if the bathroom was occupied. It hadn't occurred to him that Bill would be standing right outside waiting for him to finish, so the moment he swung the door open he immediately wished he could retreat back inside and lock the door.

What if Fleur regretted kissing him? What if she regretted it so much that she told Bill and ordered him to massacre Harry the moment he left the bathroom?

"Bathroom's all yours," Harry told Bill, when in reality he wanted to tell him that he was too young to be massacred.

Bill actually smiled at him. Not a fake, creepy I'm-luring-you-into-a-false-sense-of-security-because-I'm-planning-to-kill-you kind of smile, but a genuine I'm-so-glad-we're-going-to-be-brothers-in-law kind of smile. "Thanks," said Bill, and he disappeared behind the door.

Harry realized how very lucky he was. If Bill had decided to use the bathroom several minutes earlier, he probably would have seen Harry kissing his wife senseless on the sofa, and Victoire's party would be ruined because her stupid uncle's body parts would be raining all over the yard instead of birthday confetti. Harry may have been the worst boyfriend ever, but at least he had good timing.

He half-expected to encounter Fleur on his way out of the house, which would have set off his problems all over again, but she had conveniently disappeared long enough for him to get out of the house without being sidetracked by temptation. Ron and Hermione, who had missed every bit of his descent towards immorality because they had arrived late, now greeted him with hugs and smiles while Ginny stood nearby and looked like she might forgive him if he was willing to lie down and let her walk all over him.

Then Gabrielle had the audacity to walk by with a couple of her giggling friends and wink at Harry, like she was trying to signal him to their secret affair hideaway that didn't actually exist. The problem was that Ginny didn't know that such a hideaway did not actually exist, and she turned her back on Harry to go talk to her parents.

"Something wrong with Ginny?" asked Ron.

"It's a long story," said Harry. A long story that was bound to get longer, the way his luck was running lately.


	2. Part Two

Part Two

Harry was usually glad that the Weasleys were a large family, since it filled in the family-shaped void that had tainted his childhood, but the problem with the Weasleys being a large family was that a lot of family get-togethers occurred, and Fleur attended nearly all of them. That was never a problem until Harry drank too much wine and kissed Fleur repeatedly at her daughter's birthday party.

And now, a mere two weeks after the birthday party incident, Harry found himself at the annual Weasley picnic at the Burrow, seated between Ginny, who had relaxed her guard since Gabrielle was nowhere nearby, and Percy, who seemed to believe that Harry was just dying to hear about some boring law he was hoping to devise at the Ministry.

"So, Harry," said Percy, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses for about the twelfth time. "What is your opinion on Floo Powder abuse?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Harry said absently, stifling a yawn.

Percy cleared his throat importantly and sat up straighter on his corner of the picnic blanket, clearly overjoyed at the chance to explain something in mundane detail. "I don't know if you are aware, but there are some witches and wizards out there who, ah... how to put this delicately? These witches and wizards like to use Floo Powder _recreationally_."

"Isn't that what you normally do with Floo Powder?"

"No, no, not at all, Harry. _Ordinary, well-behaved_ witches and wizards use Floo Powder for transportation purposes. These, ah, social degenerates I spoke of earlier have found a highly inappropriate, possibly illegal alternate use for the powder that goes entirely against the powder's intended use."

Harry must have been gaping like an idiot because George said, "Perce is trying to say that some people snort Floo Powder."

"Oh."

"I was trying to put it _delicately_, George," said Percy. "I don't wish to offend Harry when I'm unaware of his views on the matter. Now Harry, what _is_ your opinion on Floo Powder abuse?"

Personally Harry wondered if someone had been drugging his food and drink with Floo Powder, or something similar, because he couldn't stop sneaking glances at Fleur. The two of them hadn't said a word to each other, aside from an awkward "Hi" at the start of the picnic, and Harry couldn't look her in the face because he feared the word "Cheater!" would magically erupt upon his forehead the moment he met Fleur's eyes. Aside from the occasional glance in her direction, he figured he would spend the whole picnic politely avoiding her, just like he avoided her at Victoire's party, which involved hiding behind bushes and running off to the bathroom a lot.

"Well, only a prat would snort Floo Powder," Harry said. According to that logic, maybe he should take up a hobby of Floo Powder abuse, because he felt like a prat every time his heart thumped at the sound of Fleur's voice.

"Quite right," said Percy. "Which is why I'm pushing for a law that will make such abuse illegal, and therefore punishable by the authorities."

Harry wished that Ginny would rescue him, but she was deep in a discussion with Hermione about something-or-other, and Harry was stuck listening to Percy list every single reason (in great detail) why Floo Powder abuse was hazardous to the wizarding community and should be prohibited. Since he couldn't just run behind a bush to avoid this situation, Harry decided to use his other key method of avoiding people.

"Sorry, but I need to use the toilet," he lied. "I'll only be a moment." Also a lie.

"Do hurry back," said Percy. "I haven't even told you about the petition I've been planning."

Harry escaped into the house and sat upon the staircase, glad to escape both Percy and the temptation of looking at Fleur. As long as he maintained his self-control and avoided dangerous situations, this picnic was bound to be much better than Victoire's birthday party. The worst thing Harry had done was mistakenly sit next to Percy, but that was nothing compared to his previous big mistake.

No, the picnic had gone off without a hitch so far, and Ginny had no reason to unleash her jealousy. The moment they arrived at the Burrow, Ginny had even smiled and said, "Thank Merlin that little tart Gabrielle won't be here."

Thank Merlin indeed. Gabrielle was the cause of Harry's problems in the first place. If Gabrielle hadn't decided to make Harry her lifelong lust object, then Ginny wouldn't hate her, and if Ginny didn't hate her then Harry wouldn't have tried using Fleur to fix his problems, and if Harry hadn't tried using Fleur then he wouldn't have accidentally kissed her instead, and if he hadn't accidentally kissed her then he wouldn't be sitting on the Weasley's staircase trying not to remember that oh-so-enjoyable kiss.

Good Godric. He wanted to kiss her again and it was all Gabrielle's fault.

_Step step step._

Somebody had entered the house.

Harry quickly got off the stairs and tried to walk in a casual manner, as if he had just finished using the bathroom and was now on his way back to the picnic. He didn't expect to walk right into Fleur and spent five seconds blinking at her like an idiot, feeling just like he did when he was fourteen and got tongue-tied every time he saw Cho Chang.

Only this was a hundred times worse.

"Hi," Harry managed to say. It was the second word he had spoken to her all afternoon, though he supposed it didn't count because it was the exact same word he said earlier.

"Harry," said Fleur, maintaining a safe distance away from him. "I wanted to talk. We did not part in the best manner two weeks ago."

"Right," said Harry.

"I hope that what happened didn't cause any... misunderstandings. I am happy with Bill, but I still want us to be friends. We are practically family, after all."

"Of course. I never had any, uh, misunderstandings, and I'd like to be friends, Fleur. That'd be great."

Somehow that safe distance managed to disappear. When did she get so close?

"Good," said Fleur. "Will you walk me back to the picnic?"

She offered her hand and Harry took it, feeling a strange warmth rush through him the moment they made contact. If he was in the mood for being smart and rational, he would have walked Fleur out the door and escorted her back to the picnic, but his brain had apparently stopped functioning a good five minutes ago. Instead he pulled Fleur against him and kissed her the way he been longing to for the last couple of weeks, regardless of all the guilt and confusion that had plagued him at Victoire's party.

If Fleur had been in the mood for being smart and rational, he supposed she would have pulled away or slapped him, but instead she kissed him back. So much for being friends.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized when their lips broke apart. "I don't know why I keep doing this."

"We are both to blame," said Fleur. Her voice had gone very low and she looked at him with eyes that begged for him to continue. "We are fools, both of us."

Harry held both of her hands and prepared to kiss her again when a voice said, "Pardon me, but— Am I interrupting something?"

_Sweet Merlin on a pie crust!_ Harry turned towards the open door and found Percy standing there, adjusting his glasses and blinking awkwardly. "Oh, I'm a prat," Harry moaned, dropping Fleur's hands. "I am a _prat_. I am the biggest prat in the world."

"Mother wanted to know if you were finished with your plate," said Percy, looking uncomfortable. Fleur remained silent.

"Percy, this isn't what it looks like," Harry said quickly. "Fleur was just helping me with a... a problem." As if he didn't feel terrible enough, the bottom of his nose started to itch and he rubbed at it with a finger.

Percy cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses again. "Harry, you can get help, you know."

Help for what? An uncontrollable tendency to snog his fiancee's sister-in-law? "What?" said Harry.

"You can get help," Percy repeated more slowly. "You don't need to ruin your life, Harry. Though it is true that I'm pushing for your habit to become illegal, I want to help you instead of condemn you. I know of a satisfactory doctor at St. Mungo's who can advise you."

"Percy, what are you talking about?"

"There is no need to lie to me," Percy said in his most imperious I-used-to-be-Head-Boy-so-respect-my-authority voice. "You went to the toilet for a suspicious amount of time. You called yourself a prat. You rubbed your nose just now. Obviously my discussion of Floo Powder awakened your craving and I apologize for bringing up such a sensitive subject at such an inappropriate time."

Fleur raised a confused eyebrow at Harry, while Harry felt more embarrassed than the time Mrs. Weasley walked in on him taking a bath over the Christmas holidays.

Bloody hell in a bucket. Percy thought he was a Floo Powder addict.

Which could actually work to Harry's advantage, come to think of it. "You've caught me, Percy," he said. "I tried my best to hide it, but you caught me. Fleur is the only one who knew of my terrible habit and wanted to suggest a doctor in France."

Fleur quickly caught on and nodded her head. "It is true. I don't want him to ruin his life."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about this, Percy," said Harry. "Especially Ginny. I'd like to break the news to her on my own."

"Certainly," said Percy.

The three of them walked back to the picnic and Harry had to admit that walking with Percy and Fleur looked a lot better than walking with just Fleur, even if it was _Percy_. Percy's presence also crushed any temptation to kiss Fleur again, though Harry didn't feel any less awkward when he returned to the Weasleys and accidentally met Bill's eyes. Why did Bill, with his scarred face, have to look particularly dangerous that afternoon? It was like he was tempting Harry to do something scandalous so he could rip him to shreds.

Oh wait. He already _did_ do something scandalous, on two separate occasions.

"Are you all right?" Ginny asked him.

Before Harry got a chance to respond, Percy chuckled in the most awkward way possible and said, "Oh, he's quite all right, Ginny. Just as long as you keep your nose clean, right Harry?"

"Ha. Right." Harry resisted the urge to hex Percy into next week.

"What do you mean?" asked Ginny.

"Nothing," said Harry. "Just a joke between me and Percy."

"Percy doesn't joke."

"Yes, but he's trying. Unfortunately he's making a really poor job of it."

"Oh, Harry," said Percy, letting out another awkward chuckle. "This is why your habit is dangerous, you know. It induces you to say preposterous things."

Harry reminded himself to never tell Percy any legitimate secrets, _ever_. It was a good thing Percy didn't know the real reason Harry was alone with Fleur, or else the entire Weasley family would know before the picnic was over. Harry could just imagine Percy tittering in that cringe-worthy way of his, like he had just learned how to laugh from the most rubbish teacher on earth, and saying, "Do be careful now, Harry. You don't want your lips to stray into claimed territory, do you?" Or "Harry, you haven't behaved improperly with anyone's wife lately, have you? Oh, you haven't? Good, good. I'm exceedingly proud of you."

After everyone finished eating and Mrs. Weasley cleared up the picnic things, Harry managed to get Ron alone in the garden. Well, alone aside from the gnomes running around, but Harry was pretty sure that gnomes had no concept of infidelity and therefore wouldn't judge him for what he was about to say.

"Ron, have you ever thought about kissing Fleur?"

"Loads of times," said Ron.

"Really?"

"Of course. Hard not to, isn't it? You can't be male and _not_ look at Fleur without wanting to give her a good snog."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. He suddenly felt a million times better. Of _course_ he couldn't control himself every time he was alone with Fleur. It was simply human nature.

Ron lowered his voice. "Don't tell anyone I said this, but as much as I love Hermione, if I ever _did_ get the chance to snog Fleur, I would do it."

If Harry was engaged to anyone else, or not engaged at all for that matter, he would have confided in Ron and told him what happened between himself and Fleur, but Harry was engaged to Ron's sister. The last thing he wanted was for Ron to have a fit because Harry cheated on his sister, even if it _was_ with Fleur.

Harry laughed and said, "I'd snog her too if I had the chance. Definitely."

"I bet even Percy would do it," said Ron. "We should dare him to one of these days, just to see if he will."

"Sure," Harry said hollowly. He didn't like the thought of anyone kissing Fleur, especially Percy, who—

But that was ridiculous. Fleur was married to Bill and therefore did not belong to Harry. And it wasn't like he cared for her or anything, because his constant urge to kiss her was nothing more than a natural reaction, triggered by the fact that Fleur was a quarter veela.

"You know, she probably wouldn't mind if _you_ did it," said Ron.

"Did what to who?"

"Fleur. She wouldn't mind if you kissed her."

No, she certainly wouldn't. "What makes you say that?" Harry asked, keeping his eyes focused on an extremely fascinating blade of grass.

"Well, she's always liked you more than the rest of us, hasn't she? Aside from Bill, obviously. I mean, after you saved her sister you couldn't do any wrong in her eyes."

"Suppose you're right," Harry murmured.

"I wonder how much we can bribe Percy to give her a snog. As a joke, of course. Do you think he'd do it if we held his old Head Boy badge hostage? He still polishes it every couple of months."

Harry thought about making himself some tea and finding an isolated corner away from all the Weasleys and their spouses. He could certainly use some alone time.


	3. Part Three

Part Three

Harry barely had time to think about Fleur when Percy kept owling him on a regular basis, wanting to know if he had given up his unfortunate Floo Powder habit, whether or not he had seen a doctor, and when he planned to tell Ginny about his problem. Ginny was starting to get suspicious about the amount of letters that came from the same owl day after day, but Harry simply told her that it was a work-related matter and that she shouldn't worry about it.

The fact that he and Percy both worked at the Ministry made things even worse. Harry couldn't spend an hour at his desk without getting interrupted by memos full of lectures and pretentious advice that should be punishable by law. There _must_ be Dark magic involved in such memos. Would Harry be abusing his position if he rounded Percy up and held him in custody for a few days on suspicion of Dark magic? Probably, but it would sure be amusing.

Harry was in the middle of his lunch break, trying not to stare at a pale-haired secretary who reminded him a bit of Fleur, when somebody cleared his throat. Harry shuddered.

Only one person on the face of the earth could clear his throat in such a pompous yet awkward manner.

"Sod off, Percy," said Ron, who sat next to Harry. "If this is another speech about the safety of Auror equipment, we don't want to hear it."

"It was the safety _and_ _regulation_ of Auror equipment," Percy corrected. "And no, that is not what I wish to discuss. I'd like a word with Harry."

Harry wondered if Percy woke up every morning thinking, _Hmm, I have come up with a new way to ruin Harry's life. I'm sure he'll appreciate it tremendously._"What is it, Percy?"

"Did you read the memo I sent you titled _Twelve Reasons Why Floo Powder Abusers Endanger the Workplace_? I enjoyed writing that one immensely. I even sent a copy to Minister Shacklebolt."

Harry was relieved that Ron put on a pair of earmuffs the moment Percy started talking. "Of course I read it," he lied. "Very, uh, informative."

"Why thank you," said Percy, beaming with puffed-up pride. "One of my finest works, if I do say so myself. But as much as I enjoy composing documents on your habit, Harry, I believe it is time to take more assertive measures."

Harry's eyes had strayed towards the pale-haired, Fleur-like secretary, but Percy's words quickly distracted him. "Assertive measures?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"_Assertive_ is an adjective that indicates confidant and positive behavior that leads to successful—"

"No, Percy, I know what the word means. What kind of assertive measures are you talking about?"

"I'm glad that you asked," said Percy. "I have scheduled an appointment for you at St. Mungo's. The doctor expects to see you at precisely five-fifteen today."

_Precisely._ Percy had to be the only wizard under the age of sixty who actually said "precisely" on a regular basis. Even Hermione didn't say "precisely." But Percy's vocabulary was the least of Harry's worries when he was doomed to the Most Awkward Appointment Imaginable in a few short hours.

"Don't you think it's a little unnecessary?" he asked.

Percy gazed at him sternly through his horn-rimmed glasses, wearing his classic Push-Me-Any-Further-and-I-Will-Subject-You-to-an-Hour-Long-Lecture-on-Your-Wrongdoings face. "Of course it is necessary. You _did_ read that informative memo I sent, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course," Harry lied.

"Then I'm sure you understand the utmost importance of seeking medical care. In case you have forgotten, you are engaged to my sister, Harry, _and_ you are partially responsible for the safety of the wizarding community. I will be escorting you to your doctor's appointment to ensure your attendance."

Harry had stopped listening somewhere around "utmost importance." The Fleur-like secretary laughed at something another secretary said, throwing her head back so that her pale hair danced around her shoulders, and Harry realized that he couldn't continue his charade any longer. He would have to tell Percy the truth of what happened at the Weasley picnic.

Ron continued to wear his earmuffs, blissfully unaware of the conversation, but Harry lowered his voice anyway.

"Percy, I haven't been entirely honest with you," he said.

Percy twitched a little. He hated dishonesty almost as much as he hated rule-breaking, insubordination, and wrinkles in his perfectly smooth robes.

"I'm not actually addicted to Floo Powder," Harry continued. "I've never abused Floo Powder in my life."

"Denial is a step in the wrong direction, Harry, and—"

"I was cheating on Ginny with Fleur," Harry interrupted. "I snogged her while the rest of you were enjoying the picnic, and I was about to snog her again when you walked in on me."

Percy blinked. He coughed and adjusted his glasses. He blinked again, then finally cracked an awkward smile. "Harry, that is the most preposterous cover story I have ever heard. Do you honestly expect me to believe that you engaged in inappropriate, extra-marital behavior with your future sister-in-law?"

"Er—"

"Didn't you read the memo I sent you yesterday? The one titled _The Seven Most Successful Recovery Steps For an Addict Who Lacks Clear Initiative_? Admitting that you have a problem is the first step, Harry. Ever since I caught you at the Burrow, you have failed to take heed of my advice and subsequently deluded yourself into thinking your problem is not a problem at all, hence your reluctance to see a doctor and your concoction of completely absurd stories."

Merlin's beard. What did Harry have to do to make Percy understand? Summon Fleur and kiss her right in front of him?

On second thought, that wasn't such a bad idea. Except for the fact that it was a horrible, _horrible _idea and he shouldn't be thinking of Fleur at all. Fleur was partially the reason he was in this mess with Percy in the first place.

"All right, Percy," he said with a sigh. "I admit that I have a problem."

"Splendid," said Percy. "Remember, five-fifteen _precisely_."

The moment Percy strolled away, head held high with the haughtiness of success, Ron removed his earmuffs and heaved a sigh of relief. "Blimey, I thought he'd never leave. What did he come to talk about, anyway? Safety regulations for making an investigation?"

"Yeah, something like that," said Harry.

Five-fifteen—precisely, of course—arrived all too soon. Percy escorted Harry to the office of Dr. Cringleworth, lecturing all the while in his most boring, sleep-inducing tone. Harry nearly fell asleep on his feet, but they reached the office just in time and he quickly wiped the glazed look from his eyes. Then proceeded to stare like an idiot.

Merlin's eyebrows.

Merlin's great _buggering_ eyebrows.

Seated in the room with Dr. Cringleworth, a wrinkled, gray-haired wizard with a pursed-up mouth worthy of Aunt Petunia, was Fleur in all her silvery-haired, tantalizing glory. Harry didn't know if he should kick Percy, tear his own hair out, or grab Fleur and run off into the sunset with her like a maniac.

He settled for looking uncomfortable and stammering a bit. "Er, Percy? Why, uh, is Fleur in the doctor's office?"

"Percy invited me," Fleur explained, smiling at Harry in a way that made him feel faint.

"Since Fleur is the only person aside from myself and Dr. Cringleworth who is aware of your addiction, I thought her presence would be helpful," said Percy. "George and Angelina agreed to watch Victoire."

"Oh," said Harry.

He was fully convinced that the whole universe wanted to ruin his life.

"Well, enough senseless chatter," said Dr. Cringleworth, sounding like an elderly version of Percy. "Mr. Potter, how long have you been using?"

"Using what?" asked Harry, confused.

"The Floo Powder, young man," said the doctor. "How long have you been using the _Floo Powder_?"

"His brain has been sadly addled," said Percy with a shake of his head. "I offer my apologies, Doctor."

Would Harry get into trouble if he put a silencing charm on Percy? Most likely.

"Only a few months," said Fleur, answering the doctor's question. "His case is not a serious one."

"_Every_ case is a serious one, Mrs. Weasley. This is not a matter to be treated lightly. Now Mr. Potter, have you made any effort to cease your addiction?"

"Sure," said Harry. "I've been flying my broomstick a lot, and uh, focusing on work, and drinking plenty of butterbeer—"

Dr. Cringleworth's bushy gray eyebrows shot up toward his forehead. "I hope you haven't been drinking and flying," he said sternly. "Though butterbeer is non-alcoholic, it has been proven to cause broomstick crashes when consumed in large amounts."

"Indeed," said Percy. He had taken out a quill and parchment and was actually writing down everything the doctor said. "I have been trying to get the national Quidditch teams to make butterbeer consumption illegal among players, but this problem remains a battle I am still fighting."

"_Mon dieu_," Fleur muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes.

The next fifteen minutes proved to be more excruciating than an O.W.L. exam. Dr. Cringleworth tutted loudly and made rapid movements with his eyebrows as he questioned Harry on his supposed habit in great detail. Luckily Harry had experience with making things up, since he had spent years coming up with fake predictions for Professor Trelawney's class, and he answered the doctor's questions with Fleur's occasional input. Dr. Cringleworth then proceeded to examine Harry, which would have been awkward enough without Fleur in the room, and Harry used some handy nonverbal spells to cheat the physical tests.

"Well, well," Dr. Cringleworth said at the end, raising his bushy eyebrows for the hundredth time. "Based on this appointment, Mr. Potter, I recommend that you take three drops of this medicine daily and attend our weekly support group." He handed Harry a vial full of potion and an appointment card for the support group, which met on Sunday evenings at six o'clock.

"Thanks," Harry muttered.

Percy put away his notes and cleared his throat. "Harry, if you need an escort back to your home—"

"Oh, no, do not worry about it," Fleur broke in. "I will make sure Harry returns home safely."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out.

"Very well," Percy said stiffly. "I leave him in your hands then. If anything goes wrong, I expect you to contact me immediately."

And suddenly Harry was left all alone with Fleur, which could turn out to be a good thing or a bad thing. Or both. As soon as they arrived at the flat he shared with Ginny, he realized the place was empty and found a note from Ginny telling him she had gone shopping for Quidditch supplies. "What a horrible old doctor," Fleur grumbled as Harry read the note. "A horrible old _codger_, as you English say. And Percy will be exactly like him in thirty years, maybe even twenty years."

"Or ten," said Harry, laughing. It was a shame that Fleur and Ginny disliked each other when they both had a knack for describing people in unflattering terms.

"Yes, probably ten," Fleur agreed.

They looked at each other for a moment, suddenly awkward. "And I suppose this is the moment where we start kissing each other, apologize afterwards, and don't see each other for days," said Harry.

"Oh, don't be silly," said Fleur. "I love Bill."

"And I love Ginny. But I also like to snog you and I don't know why."

"I don't know why either," said Fleur. "I have always liked you since you saved Gabrielle, and yes, I have kissed you on the cheek many times, but it is different when we _snog_, as you say." She frowned. "What an ugly, terrible word."

"But you _like_ snogging. And you like snogging me too, don't you?"

"What are we going to do?"

"Well," said Harry. "We can either talk this out like reasonable adults, or we can find a nice sofa."

They succeeded in behaving like "reasonable adults" for about three and a half seconds, then spent the next five minutes on a sofa acting like they hadn't seen each other in years. And to Harry, who missed the softness of Fleur's lips and the bright sheen of her hair, it _did_ feel like it had been years. He enjoyed kissing Fleur for exactly five minutes (or "precisely," as Percy would say), but as soon as those five minutes were over he remembered that he was in his own home, on his own sofa, where he had kissed Ginny just a couple of days ago.

He didn't feel guilty, exactly, but it was definitely unsettling to know that he had lost self-control in his own home. Except that loss of self-control had felt wonderful and he would rather like to lose it again.

"I don't want to wait days before I can see you again," he told Fleur. "Let's meet somewhere tomorrow. It will be Saturday."

"Bring little Teddy over tomorrow," Fleur suggested. "He can play with Victoire."

"That's a great id—"

"Harry, are you home?"

_Bollocking banshees._ Ginny had come back. Fleur apparated so fast, Harry didn't get a chance to kiss her goodbye, but he supposed that was for the best and sat on the now empty sofa, waiting for Ginny to appear.

"Er, I'm in the living room," he called out. "I'm really tired. Rough day at work today."

Ginny entered the living room with a shopping bag from Quality Quidditch Supplies and kissed Harry on the forehead. For one terrifying moment Harry wondered if she could somehow detect Fleur's former presence, and if she could then she would hex Harry within an inch of his life. He wouldn't be able to walk for days.

But no, that was far too kind. If Ginny found out that Fleur had been on her sofa just a moment ago, she would _castrate_ Harry. And then he would never be able to father any children and name them after dead people like he had been dreaming of for years. Albus Severus had a nice ring to it, though Ginny claimed it was awful, which would give her even _more_ of a reason to castrate him.

"Did you have dinner?" Ginny asked, smiling brightly at him.

Perhaps Albus Severus would have a chance to exist after all. "No," said Harry. "Did you?"

"No, but I'll prepare something as soon as I put my things away. You'll help me practice Quidditch this weekend, won't you? I've got a tournament coming up."

"Sure," said Harry. He watched her walk away and knew that he did love Ginny, but perhaps he got engaged to her a little too soon. He didn't want to be like Remus Lupin and marry a little too late, of course, but perhaps he and Ginny should have waited a year. Or two, or three.

Or maybe he should get his head checked because snogging Fleur so many times had clearly scrambled his brain. He didn't _need_ to snort Floo Powder when he had something just as dangerous and equally addictive on hand, but he had a feeling that quitting Fleur would be a lot harder than quitting Floo Powder.

He would have never attended Victoire's birthday party if he had known it would lead to so many problems.

* * *

_Note: _Though the story is incomplete, this is the end and I won't be writing any more chapters. Sorry! I'm merely reposting an old story that I abandoned ages ago, so please don't expect me to update. This is the end!


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